


A Conflict of Values

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide 2013 Treats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murder investigation becomes a little too personal for James.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Conflict of Values

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inabathrobe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inabathrobe/gifts).



> Your request interested me right from the start; hope this is vaguely acceptable :)

Robbie checks his watch for about the tenth time since James went off to his meeting with Innocent. It’s lasted at least three times as long as he expected, which – as well as he knows his sergeant – is concerning.

James is one of several officers who are being drafted to help with a case being run from another nick. Robbie was formally asked earlier today for the loan of his bagman, not that he really had a lot of choice in the matter. He knows none of the details, let alone what James will be required to do, and that’s part of what has him anxious. The one thing he hopes most of all, for James’s sake, is that it has nothing to do with the sexual abuse of children. 

Abruptly, the office door swings open and James strides in, face like thunder. He all but slams the door behind him before throwing himself into his chair.

“Oi,” Robbie protests, but there’s more concern than chiding in the way he looks at his bagman.

James’s head jerks up and he gives Robbie an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, sir. I...” He releases a long sigh. “I honestly can’t remember when I’ve been more... _furious_.”

“This case Innocent wants you on?” He gets a curt nod. “Can you tell me about it?”

James drums his fingers on his desk for a moment. “Please, sir. But not here.”

“Okay. Pint once we’ve finished this CPS report?”

The way James hunches over in his chair is even more worrying than his reaction so far. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. Too public.”

He should have thought of that himself, given the secrecy surrounding this case. “No problem. Takeaway at mine?”

Although James thanks him with what seems like genuine appreciation, everything about his body language suggests someone in imminent expectation of disaster falling. Bugger it anyway.

* * *

“So, what’s this case, then?”

Robbie’s been patient as long as he can, giving James a chance to eat in peace before expecting him to talk. But it’s time – not to satisfy his own curiosity, but because the bloke needs to get this off his chest.

James takes a deep breath, then says, in the lecturing tone that so often makes Robbie want to shake him, “Did you know that most people who resign their employment do so as a result of a values conflict?”

Robbie stills. Resign? Bloody hell, no! But this has to be handled carefully. “Values conflict? What’s going on, man?”

In a more normal tone this time, James says, “An apparent serial killer operating in, so far, three nightclubs in Banbury – the Sound Exchange, Green D’or and one called, believe it or not, Hobson’s Choice. The murder weapon was rat poison in each case, in whisky administered to the victim before death. In their own homes.”

He smiles, then nods. “Yeah, read about it. And? He gestures at James to get on with it. 

“Four dead so far: all men in their late twenties and early thirties, and what evidence there is – witness statements, mostly – points towards the killer being a woman. Not that any of the descriptions match, but the descriptions obtained are all vague, to say the least.”

Robbie nods. “Sexual activity?” 

“Oh, yes. All victims had had sex shortly before they were killed. No DNA evidence, however.”

He’s not at all liking where he’s suspects this is going, and James’s anger is now completely understandable. “So you and the other officers Innocent pulled in are going to be bait?”

“That’s the general idea.” James drums his fingers on his knee. “I don’t object to that. It makes sense – better it be a trained police officer that attracts the attention of this woman than another innocent victim. It’s what we were told about–” He waggles his fingers to indicate that he’s quoting. “– _permissible behaviour in the pursuance of an official investigation_.” 

“Oh?” Robbie frowns; he feels he should know what that refers to, but right now he’s lost.

“Apparently,” James says, and each word is like chipped ice, “it is acceptable, according to legislation and a Home Office clarificatory directive, for officers to have sexual intercourse with potential suspects and/or witnesses while undercover if it is believed that this will assist in the resolution of the case.”

Robbie nods slowly. “Right. Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act. I remember when that came in. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t be comfortable with that either.” And he, though he has his own strong code of behaviour when it comes to interpersonal relationships, doesn’t share James’s religious values, or his background as an almost-priest and celibate.

“You and I seem to be in the minority, sir, at least compared to the others in Innocent’s meeting.” 

“Well, can’t be that much of a problem, surely?” Robbie faces James, his expression sympathetic. “Just tell Innocent privately that you’d prefer not to be involved in this one. Tell her it’s – how did you put it? A values conflict. I’m pretty sure she’d understand.” Especially if James feels so strongly that he’s actually considering resignation – assuming he was serious when he mentioned it.

“I tried.” James’s hands are fisted so tightly his knuckles are white. “I stayed behind to talk to Innocent alone. She said she had no alternative but to order me to be part of the investigation. Apparently, one of the dead men is the nephew of the MP for Amersham.”

Robbie sighs. “Political pressure from the hang ‘em and flog ‘em brigade, then.”

“Precisely. Whether I like it or not, I’m required to comply. First thing tomorrow, I’m to report to the investigation HQ – they’re running it out of the Bloxham nick – and then proceed to my temporary accommodation in Banbury.”

Bugger. “And you’re actually thinking of resigning over this?”

“Maybe.” James reaches for his half-empty bottle and takes a long drink. “I can’t do this, sir. I don’t see what alternative I have. I’ve already drafted a letter–”

“Well, you’ve got one alternative.” Robbie presses his hand to James’s forearm. “Me. I’ll be havin’ a word in Innocent’s ear first thing tomorrow.”

* * *

He keeps his word; he’s waiting in Innocent’s PA’s office before half-past eight the next day. James hasn’t left for Bloxham – he told the bloke to come to the nick instead and await developments.

It’s about ten minutes before Innocent admits him. “This better be important, Lewis. I have an entire schedule full of meetings today.”

“It is, ma’am. That is, I’m assuming you don’t want Sergeant Hathaway to resign? Because I certainly don’t.” He knows the irritation in his voice will get her back up, but even if he wasn’t already angry enough about officers not being given a choice about something that should be private and personal to them – let alone the deceit being practiced on innocent women along the way, used for the purposes of a police enquiry that could have been conducted differently – he’d still use it as a deliberate strategy. Innocent finds it harder to dismiss him when he’s clearly pissed off.

She sighs with her entire body. “Resign? What are you talking about?”

“The strategy for the investigation in Banbury, ma’am. I believe James has already made you aware of his strong feelings on the subject?”

“I’m not especially thrilled about it, either, Lewis, for a number of reasons – not least that I believe it’s a PR disaster in the making, should anyone ever find out about it. However – as I have already explained to Sergeant Hathaway – I’m merely the messenger in this instance.”

“So he said. Regardless, that doesn’t change how he feels about it. It’s not just something he’s uncomfortable with but can be persuaded to go along under protest. It’s a matter of conscience for him. I had to talk him down last night from marching in here with his resignation letter first thing.”

Innocent rubs her face, and the weariness in her eyes is apparent. “Where is he now?”

“The office. I told him to wait there until I’d talked to you.”

“Mm. Well, I hope he’s read his email.” Her tone’s acerbic.

“Ma’am?”

“Late last night – at ten past one in the morning, to be precise – I emailed every officer from this nick that I assigned to the investigation. I told them to delay going to Bloxham until further notice.”

“Oh?” The second monosyllable in a row no doubt makes him sound like the thick Northerner many people assume he is, but he’s got no intention of speculating on anything here.

“Robbie, do you really think that I would personally support anything as outrageous as this kind of method? Never mind RIPA, which I doubt was ever intended to cover this kind of situation, and the specific interpretation of which I’ve always thought was a mistake anyway, this plan is wrong for so many reasons.” She enumerates on her fingers. “It’s morally and ethically wrong, in my opinion, to begin with. It potentially deceives and creates false expectations in women unconnected with the case. It puts officers’ lives at unacceptable risk. It requires officers to go against their individual consciences, or betray existing relationships. And it has the potential to be _extremely_ damaging for the force.”

“I don’t disagree with any of that, ma’am.” Robbie’s tone is firm, insistent, as he continues, “Then why–” He answers his own question. “You were under orders.”

“The ACC responsible for northern Oxfordshire. He thought it was an inspired idea,” she adds drily. “I spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening trying to contact the Chief Constable, and finally managed, at one o’clock this morning, to arrange a meeting for–” She glances at her watch. “–twenty minutes from now.”

“I’ll get out of your way.” As he turns to leave, he glances back momentarily. “Good luck, ma’am.”

* * *

The Chief Constable vetoes the strategy. Officers from Oxford – including James – are still sent to Bloxham, and still sent undercover to most of the nightclubs in Banbury, on the assumption that there’s no reason the killer will stick to the three where the victims so far spent their last evenings.

And, three days later, Innocent turns up at Robbie’s office to tell him that a suspect has been arrested. Apparently, a woman was seen behaving suspiciously in one of the clubs – watching a couple of men with an angry expression on her face, then visiting the loos and buying Femidoms from the dispensing machine. Later, she bought several drinks for one of the men she’d been watching, and exhibiting behaviour, as Innocent put it, that made clear that sex was on offer. Nothing to give a reason for questioning her at that point, but enough to keep watch – and once her actions matched enough of those described in witness statements, reasonable grounds existed to search her. A small container taken from her pocket contained rat poison.

Robbie nods. “Good work – without needing to compromise anyone’s principles.”

“Agreed,” Innocent says. “You can congratulate Sergeant Hathaway later; I understand he’s on his way back to Oxford now.”

He should have guessed, of course. Why would it be anyone other than James? “I’ll tell him he’s had good training,” he replies, and suppresses a smile as Innocent rolls her eyes.

* * *

He doesn’t tell James anything of the sort, of course. He takes the bloke to the Trout and buys him a pint to congratulate him on a job well done. James is clearly glad the case is solved, though it’s not over for him, of course: as the arresting officer, he’ll be spending quite a bit of time in Bloxham while the case is prepared for CPS, and then he’ll have to give evidence.

“Though I suspect she’ll get away with not guilty by reason of insanity,” James says, sounding frustrated.

“You think she’s of sound mind?”

James shakes his head. “There’s mental illness of some sort, yeah, but enough that she’s not criminally responsible? I don’t believe it. But you and I have both seen enough cases...”

“Yeah.” Robbie leans across and squeezes James’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get a takeaway and go back to mine. Bet you’re dying for intelligent company after four days without me.”

James snorts. “You are, as always, entirely correct, sir.”

* * *

“There’s one thing I can’t help wondering about,” Robbie says later, and he suspects it’s the couple of pints that’s doing it; ordinarily, he wouldn’t even contemplate asking his reticent sergeant something like this. “Hypothetically speaking, like – if you’d had to follow the original orders, couldn’t you have... you know, just gone so far and no further? Found an excuse not to have intercourse, assuming you do end up going home with a potential suspect?”

“No.” The single word is spoken harshly, but it’s the almost fearful note in James’s voice that makes Robbie study him closer. 

It’s then that something else occurs to him. Of course, James’s principles would never allow him to have sex purely as part of an investigation. Principles aside, it’s also true that James isn’t given to casual sex; Robbie can count on the fingers of one hand the partners that – to his knowledge, anyway – that James has had since he’s known him. But that’s not all that would have been holding James back.

“You don’t... I mean, you’ve been with women, but...” Bugger, he’s even more cack-handed at this now as when he made an arse of himself asking James about his sexuality years ago.

He’s expecting, at best, mockery; at worst, a cold glare telling him to mind his own business. Instead, James stands and starts to pace, fists opening and closing, looking anywhere but at Robbie. It’s at least a minute before he says, as uncomfortable as Robbie’s ever heard him, “I know you think I’m gay, sir. I’m not. And, before you say it, I’m not bisexual either. Sexuality isn’t a binary divide–” 

“Yes, I’m aware of that, thanks, sergeant,” Robbie says, deliberately abrupt in the hope that it will encourage James to get to the point.

James just nods curtly. “It’s not entirely a spectrum, either – at least, not a spectrum with gay on one end and straight on the other.”

“So there’s a – what? A tangent somewhere?” Maybe using a similar metaphor to James’s will help.

“You could say that.” The bloke’s lips twist. “Much as I despise labels, some of us identify with a different description – one that has a spectrum of its own. You may be aware of asexuality.”

It’s not a question, and Robbie appreciates that; James is less inclined these days to assume that he isn’t aware of things that might appear to be outside his experience or interests. But... Christ, that really does put a different perspective on things altogether.

And it’s not escaped Robbie’s notice that James spoke in the abstract, rather than the first person. It’s that difficult for him to say it, then?

Though, of course, why should he even have to? It’s nobody’s business other than his own. He wouldn’t have told Robbie at all if it weren’t for this bloody investigation.

And yet he has told Robbie, where he could have simply changed the subject or told him to mind his own business. 

Of course, the worst way to react to the extraordinary level of trust James has just shown him is to acknowledge it. “Yeah, I can see how that would’ve made it even more difficult,” Robbie says, getting up and walking into the kitchen. Whatever about James, he needs a cuppa. 

James actually joins him, standing behind him and leaning against the peninsula counter. “My feelings about the Home Office directive aside, I wouldn’t be remotely convincing romancing a potential suspect.”

Robbie snorts sceptically before he can stop himself. James, of course, doesn’t miss it. “What?”

“Nothing. You want a biscuit or something with this?”

James ignores the attempt at distraction. “What? If you have something to say, say it.”

Robbie sighs. “Look, ignore me. I don’t know how this works, and anything I say is going to seem... ignorant.”

For some reason, that seems to make James relax. “Go on, say it. I think...” He hesitates, then actually looks at Robbie. “I’d like it if you understood.”

He gets the cups and teabags ready before speaking, giving himself time to think. “Like I said, you’ve had relationships with women. And I’ve seen a few interested in you over the years.”

James pushes away from the counter and goes to the fridge. “Calling them _relationships_ is generous, I’d say.”

What relationships has he known about? Robbie has to rack his brain. McKendrick, of course, though he’s never believed that had been particularly serious. Scarlett Mortmaigne – but then that was just a one-off. Were there others? He’s always assumed, James being the very private bloke that he is when it comes to his personal life, that he’s just kept relationships to himself – and, entirely without evidence, he now acknowledges, he’s assumed that those unmentioned relationships were with men.

“Still, there were a couple – that I know of, anyway. Not that I’m disputing anything, mind,” he adds, holding his hands out palms-up. “Just trying to understand.”

James sets the milk on the counter, then leans against the peninsula again. “The easiest way to explain it is... well, I suppose I was going through a period of denial.”

Ah. Suspecting the truth but not wanting to accept it? 

The kettle clicks off, and Robbie pours water into their mugs. “God grant me chastity, but not yet?” he suggests.

A huff of laughter comes from James. “Actually, the correct quote is _Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet_.”

“Aren’t they more or less the same thing?” The tea made, Robbie passes a mug to James and they move back to the couch.

“Probably.” James shrugs. “Though St Augustine’s situation is very different from mine. He enjoyed sex as a young man – hence the prayer – but he believed lust was a sin, for which he blamed women for tempting men.”

Robbie snorts. “Not very good at taking responsibility for his own failings, then.”

“True. Which, of course, means he has a lot in common with many of the people we arrest...”

And, with that, the subject’s changed, and James’s disclosure isn’t referred to again this evening. But Robbie doesn’t forget, and gives the matter a lot of thought over the next week or so, as their working lives return to normal.

* * *

“Think I owe you an apology,” he tells James over a pint one evening. “Actually, I know I do.”

“Not that I’d refuse such an unusual gesture,” James quips, “but what for?”

“Telling you you need a partner that time.” Robbie sips his pint. “Must’ve seemed insensitive as well as interfering.”

James shrugs. “You didn’t know, sir. And you meant well.”

“Yeah, well, I know what they say about good intentions. Anyway...” He pulls a face. “Won’t interfere like that again.”

“I don’t need a partner, true – or, at least, that would be a highly unlikely eventuality.” James takes a drag of his cigarette. “What I would like, though, is...” He pauses, giving Robbie a sideways glance as he exhales smoke. “A friend.”

“Daft sod.” Robbie flicks the foil from James’s cigarette packet across the table at him. “What’s this been about all these years, then?” He certainly hasn’t spent most of his free time with James just because the bloke’s his bagman; he’s thought that was obvious.

James’s narrow face lights up with a rare smile and, tilting his pint glass towards Robbie, he murmurs, “The masterpiece of nature.” 

“I’ll drink to that, whatever it is.” Robbie clinks their glasses together, then turns to watch the sunset over the river.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> James quotes Ralph Waldo Emerson: _A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature._


End file.
